


The Incline

by artvinsky



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: And he walks among us, As one of us, Gen, M/M, The Outsider has been made man, The god has fallen from grace, and so he finds himself educating little empresses, while the Lord Protector and boatman watch with chagrin and amusement respectively
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artvinsky/pseuds/artvinsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And so he learns to walk as we have learned to walk, he learns to struggle how we've struggled all these centuries. Only then shall he feel what it means to be human, and only then shall he truly understand."</p><p>The Outsider has fallen.</p><p>Corvo braces himself to catch him.</p><p>Set after events at the Golden Cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_“The huge dragon, the ancient serpent_

_~~An ancient leviathan,~~ _

_Who is called the Devil and Satan_

_~~And the Outsider~~ _

_Who deceived the whole world,_

_Was thrown down to earth_

_And its angels were thrown down with it.”_

_Revelation 12:9_

* * *

i.

It’s been days since he’s last heard from the Outsider. Every night over the past few days, when he expects to wake up in the Void with the Whale God’s piceous gaze prodding him, baiting him, all the while as the Mark burnt far too hot for comfort, instead he wakes the next morning, relishing the waking haze of his dreamless and thankfully uneventful sleep.

Sometimes, Emily sits on the foot of his bed, even reading against his legs and the warmth is something he wakes up to.

Even in his relief, he cannot help but feel apprehensive of the Leviathan’s lack of overwhelming contact. Perhaps, that the god had lost interest?

Corvo finds himself deflating at the thought for reasons he cannot explain, for reasons perhaps he doesn’t want to know the answer to.

Eventually, the days pass, Emily settles in with life at the Hound Pits, and everybody adores her. Corvo smiles at the thought of her ruling peacefully once this was all over. Havelock and Martin continue with the planning the next phase of his mission, solidifying exactly what it is that they want him to do, since the ride of the Pendleton twins at the Golden Cat’s happened almost a week ago. Treavor Pendleton still speaks to Corvo in a restrained voice that sounds thin from impatience and instead it is Wallace who tells Corvo to keep his distance.

Corvo still remembers the overwhelming cloud of perfume that was far too much like the stench of rotten flesh from the sewers that the courtesans forcibly wore by Madam Prudence’s command. He remembers the girls and their misery. Some of them have held on to each other for support, and they’ve danced in each other’s embraces while others revelled in their solitude, taking drags of their age-old cigarettes. Corvo had only come to finish off the Pendletons and get Emily out. He had not expected that misery, and _her_ voice telling him more secrets than he’d wish to know had not made the mission any easier.

But the Outsider is quiet. And even in this brief respite Corvo’s found, he cannot sit still and his jaw is set on edge. Emily mentions nothing further of her nightmares with the Outsider and Corvo decides that something is truly off.

Once he knows that everyone has fallen asleep, he asks a favour for Samuel for the night, a boat trip to Distillery District.

“I understand things have gotten a bit slow for now, Corvo. I mean, with Lady Emily back and safe, I thought that you’d been okay with relaxing,” Samuel says to him as he boards the boat, fixing his mask back into place as they move from the docks under the cover of the dark sky. “I understand the restlessness though. Times like these, no change is worse than any.”

The boat cuts silently through the Wrenhaven’s waters, away from the lights of the City Watch that’s cast over the river. Samuel navigates the small vessel to nestle at that familiar spit of land where he had waited for Corvo to return with Emily not too long ago.

He smiles behind his mask and claps Samuel on the back. “Thank you, Samuel. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Stay safe, Corvo.”

* * *

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

The rats are boundless at night, feral, hostile, swarms and swarms, a beast in its own right as they devour corpses and corpses of the dead left by the City Watch. Corvo may have power over them, but even he has learnt to fear the plague and steer clear of it. He keeps himself as far from the ground as possible, avoiding eyes of the Watch and the teeth and claws of the rats. As he sprints across the rooftops, silently, his Vision is sharp as he hold the Heart, _her Heart_ , in his right hand and Blink in the other.

There will be no bloodshed tonight.

He’ll be damn sure of it.

He sees the familiars and he sighs at how used to it he is. Corpses in abandoned apartments, some half-eaten by swarms of rats that guarded their meal dangerously, some of Slackjaw’s men guarding the entrance to the Distillery as per usual, their heads snapping up to the sound of him sprinting and slipping at the roofs, yet they do not see him.

Her voice is silent. He’s taken every rune, every bone charm in this area, kissed the mark for good luck after managing to escape the shrines unharmed, yet all this happened days and days ago. The Heart speaks in unbearable tones of silence to him.

Perhaps it was all for nothing coming here, Corvo thinks. 

Then she screams and he slips from one of the roofs, almost dropping her.

_“HE HAS FALLEN. THE VOID IS QUIET BECAUSE HE IS HERE. THE OUTSIDER DOES NOT WALK, HE CANNOT YET.”_

He blinks to the safety of a nearby roof, and holds the Heart steady in his fist.

Nothing stands out in his vision, everything is in place, every City Watch guard, every corpse, every rat, every piece of tinned and brined foodstuff that he might be able to partake in, everything is untouched as it was days and days ago.

But he sees someone breathing, past the buildings of Clavering Boulevard, and back further into the apartments closer to the Distillery itself, back at the apartment where he had first met that odd old woman, Granny Rags. He sees someone breathing, slumped against a wall and head lolling to the side.

The Heart beats manically in his hand as he jumps from roof to roof. With arms outstretched as he leaps a gap much too large for his safety, and the overwhelming sound of the rats’ teeth and claws beneath him like tiny gears and cogs and knives sharpening and grinding, ready to tear him to pieces when they begin with his coat—

Corvo blinks.

_“HE IS NEAR, AND HE EXPECTS NOTHING. HIS MIND IS BLANK, AND YOU HOPE THAT HE REMEMBERS NOTHING.”_

The Heart beats madly in his fist, and the heat that he feels from it is enough singe, but Corvo does not let go. He holds it steady as he kicks open the barricades to the old apartment. There is not the familiar song coming from a rune when nearby, but Corvo knows where to look for the old woman’s shrine.

Even after she’s deserted this apartment, the whale oil lamps still burn brightly.

And so he sees.

The Heart is quiet.

He has to shake himself to prove that he’s not dreaming.

The Leviathan does not sleep. Gods are perpetual, so Corvo’s been told, but to see the curled up figure of the Outsider against lamplit wall, draped in the rich blue fabric that shrines he’s seen are often fashioned out of, Corvo inhales sharply.

_“HE SLEEPS. THAT WAS HIS MISTAKE. AND NOW HE HAS FALLEN.”_

Corvo stands over the figure of the young man, the god, the Outsider, and notes how soft, how human his features look up close. Even with the whale oil lamps casting their eerie blue glow about the room, something tells Corvo that the Outsider is so much more than abstract right now it this very moment.

He crouches over the sleeping figure, noting the uniform rise and fall of his chest, noting his breathing, something so human which the Outsider proved to be anything but.

Corvo grits his teeth.

His brand grows red hot when he brings his left hand over to shake the god from his sleep. The pain is something he wishes not to feel so he does so quickly.

“Wake up. Wake up.” His own voice is gentle. He’s heard himself wear this tone when Emily was much younger, refusing to go to bed without a story from him. Why he’s using it with the Outsider, he cannot fathom. He respects men when they sleep because he hopes the same of them, but the Outsider is not a man—

Gone is the blackness around his fluttering eyelids, the pit, the void, the abyss. The Outsider blinks up at him. His eyes, all too human, clouded with sleep, are looking blindly up at Corvo.

The Outsider yawns.

Corvo does not breathe and he says next to nothing as he watches the god sit up against the wall, shakily, gracelessly almost, as though godhood was never a glove that he’s worn so well.

“What is this.”

The Outsider’s head, still heavy with sleep lolls to the side as if trying to hear his question again. Was it even a question? His lack of inflection’s made it sound more an expression of exasperation, and the fact that he’s hissed it should be an indication. The Outsider exhales, squinting at him behind closed eyes and brings a hand to his forehead to abate a headache of sorts.

Corvo’s seen that in men who are hungover.

Does the Leviathan even drink?

Before Corvo can utter another repressed exclamation, the Outsider rubs his eyes, his human eyes, and steels himself against the wall, taking slow measures to stand. The rich velvet is in pools around the god’s ankles and Corvo steps back, distancing himself as the Outsider slides out of the tangle of fabric.

He can hear the Outsider’s every breath and it sounds all too human. He hears Samuel breathe like this as their small boat goes ways on the Wrenhaven and he hears Piero inhale in the same manner when the philosopher holds himself steady against the edge of his desk, head cocked as he looks down at one of his blueprints with a critical eye. Cecelia breathes the same when she dusts the bar and shines it clean, and Havelock and Martin and Pendleton share it as well as they speak to each other, of the mission.

The Outsider breathes in time with his own breaths, inhale, exhale, exhale, inhale.

_HE HAS FALLEN._

The Outsider holds his gaze steady, and Corvo doesn’t know if he feels more unsettled with these tired eyes staring him once over as opposed to the usual oil-slick black pits that the god’s been poking and prodding him with from the beginning.

The god’s voice, much to Corvo’s unintended relief, still remains to be the smooth monotone, and like his voice, the Outsider’s face clears to form a passive mask.

“Hello, Corvo.”

* * *

The Outsider is far from intangible, far from abstruse and Corvo learns of this the hard way.

They traverse the rooftops of the Distillery District's back alleys as silently as Corvo can manage while he supports all of the Outsider’s weight against himself. His right arm hooked around the god’s waist and his left held out to blink at a moment’s notice.

The swarms of plague rats still run rampant on the streets below, and one of Slackjaw’s wayward men has already fallen victim to their feral operations. He can see the bones picked clean.

When the Outsider attempted to walk, Corvo can only be frank to say that it was a disaster.

Swiftly, he caught the god, who did not utter a cry or a yelp or any sound men would make upon falling. His Mark was far from settled and it burns hot as he feels the Outsider’s fists holding parts of his coat severely, like a man would hold onto a rope for dear life. He feels all of the god’s weight against him, the Outsider’s head burrowed against his shoulder, warming it with shaky breaths as attempted to keep himself standing against Corvo.

“ _She_ told me that you cannot walk.” Corvo hooks one of the Outsider’s arms around his shoulders, and they stand instead, side by side. His hands move to secure the god’s waist and their bodies are warm. He can feel the Outsider’s hand on his shoulder clenching into a fist as they walk gingerly steps.

“Yet. I cannot walk yet.”

The whales have no legs, and Corvo understands the brief setback.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, taking the Outsider back to the Hound Pits with him. He cannot imagine what the others might think, or how Emily might react seeing the object of her nightmares in the bar nursing a drink. Corvo thinks that perhaps she would not recognize the god, but even with his eyes as human as the rest of them, she is far too clever to be deceived.

He thinks of what reasons he might be able to provide Samuel as to why he’s dragged a crippled survivor (as far as Samuel knew) with him, but for now, Corvo forces them on, quietly so as the guards hear nothing.

He only asks one thing, and he never asks questions. “How?”

How did this happen? How are you a man like the rest of us and not the god that’s been playing games for centuries and centuries on?

The Outsider stops him walking with a gesture as they loom over the entrance to the main strip of Clavering Boulevard, far from the rats and the back alleys of the Distillery and into the paths of the City Watch. They stay on the roof.

And so he understands why he has to take the Outsider back with him.

“I will answer your questions, dear Corvo. But I will only do so when we are out of harm’s way. Back to the safety of your Loyalist _allies._ ”

He needs answers.

But he feels more relieved now than he has in the last few days; all from hearing the Outsider’s voice after all that stretch of silence.


	2. Chapter 2

ii.

Corvo realises that he takes Samuel’s company far too much for granted.

When he stumbles back to the boat with the Outsider in tow, he sees Samuel's eyes widen briefly at the pair of them. Covered in filth, and the blood of rats spread underneath the soles of their shoes like oil that makes them skid on the grungy, rain-spattered pavement of Clavering Boulevard.

Corvo had forced them to hide beneath the bridge. All the while, the Outsider had leant against him, all weight and warmth, legs still weak and knuckles whiter than bone from his grip on Corvo's arm.

He can feel the Outsider's heart beating rapidly, like his would under the influence of adrenaline. The god's cheeks are flushed, almost in a fevered red and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. The Outsider looks to him and Corvo reads nothing from the god’s gaze. No man's eyes can be so devoid of anything but the Outsider manages it nonetheless, even in his strange state.

Something flashes briefly in them, and for a moment Corvo thinks that the Outsider's eyes would grow dark yet again, and all the weight, all the warmth that's pressed against him for the past hour would dissipate into smoke. That the hand curled desperately around his arm would disappear into nothing and that this would all be a test.

He waits to wake up in the Void any moment now and to see the Outsider hovering over him, arms crossed, eyes black as oil spills and that drawl would tell him that he's still within the god's good graces.

"I'll find you, you bastard," Corvo hears a City Watch guard hiss, muffled under haze of his Vision, and he sees the silhouette of the guard directly over them, pacing with his blade drawn out and his pistol ready, and eyes trained on the land mere metres away from them, close to the water of the Wrenhaven, to where Samuel is well hidden from view.

Soon enough, the watchman leaves, grumbling maledictions as he holsters his gun and returns to his post near the Wall of Light. Corvo blinks his vision away and sighs.

“Ready?” he asks as he adjusts the Outsider’s hold on him, pulling the god closer and keeping his hand firm around the god’s waist. He feels warmth, he feels a stomach, toned underneath all the fabric and grime, breathing as steadily as he can manage (inept legs, notwithstanding). No smoke and mirrors yet.

The Outsider manages a scoff as if reading his thoughts. “Yes, I’m ready.”

The god's breaths are harsh and Corvo hears him cough softly, not out of illness but of exhaustion as they amble closer towards the water’s edge of the Wrenhaven. He makes no sounds of disgust from being half-dragged through the dirt, and Corvo sees no flicker of surprise in the god's eyes from the ichor of Weepers being cut down in front of him and splattering on his coat.

For a moment, Samuel can only look up at them in quiet astonishment, the odd pair of them. Corvo supports and holds the Outsider up with his left arm and his right hand steadily wielding his blood-painted blade. The god, visibly nothing more than a crippled yet healthy looking-looking survivor (as far as Samuel could see) grips tight onto Corvo, arm hooked around the Lord Protector’s shoulders as a crutch. Their coats are filthier than the back alleys that were more often than not strewn with garbage and their boots are already in need of the most thorough set of brushing and shining.

“I can explain, Samuel.”

His own throat is dry and his voice raspy when he sheathes his blade. He bends down to lift the Outsider’s legs off the ground. Samuel moves amidst his silent wonder and makes room for them in the boat.

His fingers can feel the Outsiders ribs expanding and contracting with every breath. A steady pace of inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, slowing down from the high of moving in the cover of the shadows undetected. The Outsider’s fingers grip tighter at the coat on his shoulders while his arms wrap impulsively around Corvo’s neck. _Out of impulse_ , Corvo thinks, because the gaze that the god gives him is not of need or of injunction.

He sees patience in the eyes of the Outsider, patience practised through thousands and thousands of years of observing, _of being_. Corvo sees all this in the eyes of a man, a young man whose pale skin and flushed cheeks are smeared with earth and whose hair is matted with dirt. Corvo sees time, space, the Void and the rest of the world in them.

The Outsider mouths a silent word of gratitude to him as he is set down on of the benches on the boat. His hands, gentler now, linger on Corvo’s arm, and the warmth seeps through his sleeve. His Mark burns and Corvo is glad that his left hand is blocked where Samuel sits because it glows brighter than he’s ever seen it. The god lets his hands fall from Corvo’s arm and instead brings his fingertips to play on the surface of the Wrenhaven’s dark waters.

Corvo doesn’t notice Samuel’s eyes flickering over them carefully.

Soon enough, when all their legs are in the boat, Samuel starts the motor and steers them further into the river, back to the Hound Pits and out of the floodlights shining down on the water.

With the Outsider’s fingertips dipped into the Wrenhaven, the fish begin to gather, and yet Corvo cannot help but notice that the beasts follow in their wake. The wonder still has yet to leave Samuel’s tired eyes when the boatman shifts his glance from them to the edge of the boat. They see schools and schools of fish churning right underneath the surface, turning the water into an even darker, more disturbing abyss.

The sight is abnormal to Dunwall (or anywhere else for that matter, Corvo recalls seeing no fish follow man so easily in Serkonos either) and very much unsettling, and they feel at any moment that their small boat will capsize and they’ll be eaten alive.

Corvo can hear the beginning of Samuel voicing his concerns, shifting his manner as he sat, boots squeaking on the water-aged timber, hands rustling inside coat pockets uncertainly.

“The fish follow us.” Corvo says, setting a light hand on the Outsider’s knee.

Obvious, he knows, but the silence on the small vessel is not something he wishes to bear. He likes hearing of Samuel’s stories of the sea. It reminds him very much of the lands and the shores back at Serkonos.

Immediately, the god takes his hands from the water. The fish disperse gradually and they are all alone with naught but the water surrounding them, stagnant and stilling to the point of becoming black glass.

After a long while, Samuel coughs, forcing their attentions from the water. “I can promise you that I’ll try and understand best I can with whatever you have to say, Corvo. But I don’t think that it’ll be me who you’d owe an explanation to.”

And Corvo grits his teeth again, swearing profusely in his mind when the roofs of the Hound Pits sail into view over the water.

What will he say to Martin, Havelock and Pendleton? Havelock, Corvo knows, depends on his skill and his blade to keep their operations afloat and Corvo’s been yet to disappoint. Pendleton’s been quiet around him after the mission, and he wonders whether he should have taken up Slackjaw’s offer to deal with the twins instead of having their blood stain his blade. And yet, would they be any easier than Martin to convince? Martin, who was now the High Overseer of the Abbey of the Everyman, who took notice of the Mark as soon as Corvo would use any of his gifts, who he feels would challenge him given the opportunity and readily laugh at the Outsider’s face.

Those three won’t be the only ones who will ask questions. And yet, their questions may not even be as important—

What of Lydia, Wallace and of Cecelia, who slave away at the Hound Pits quietly every single day for them, going by unacknowledged by the Loyalists; what would they say to having another uninvited guest? And what of Piero, who dreams feverishly of visions from the Outsider, who readily provides him with any supplies that he needs? What of Callista who sacrifices herself to tutor Emily, to make sure that she is well-taken care of?

What of Emily, who can read him so well just as Jessamine had?

He feels a hand settle on his knee and the voice of the Outsider breaks through his thoughts, although not in the normal, smoke-like inflection Corvo’s usually familiar with. Human, is what he sounds like. Voice tired and exhausted eyes already half clouded in sleep.

“You _will_ figure something out, Corvo. This is not the first time you have been posed with a challenge greater than yourself.”

Samuel agrees.

Corvo’s already come to think that the boatman will get along with the Outsider, they both have stories to share.

Unfortunately for Corvo, Samuel isn’t the only Loyalist who’s going to be involved.

 

The dawn has already broken when they dock at the Hound Pits, and for once, Corvo wishes that he had not followed his instinct. For once he wishes that he’d gotten some of that prized, dreamless sleep that he’s been getting, away from the influence of the Outsider, the very man he and Samuel were helping out of the boat.

* * *

 

Moving silently around the Hound Pits in the dark of the morning was difficult enough, even more so with the Outsider slung over his back and the bathroom adjacent to Cecelia, Wallace and Lydia’s quarters. He could have sworn he heard mindless mumbling coming from Havelock’s room.

Samuel says something about cleaning themselves up before gathering everyone to explain _‘a survivor appearing at the bar out of nowhere’_ and Corvo weighs his options. He did not expect leaning against the towel rack to help the Outsider wash the blood off of him to be one of them. Nor did he expect the Outsider to turn the tap on and submerge himself in the tub, clothes and all, immediately after Corvo turned his back to get a towel.

Wringing a wet towel, the worn white fabric already blooming with blood and dirt from his own hands, Corvo looks into the tub of cold water. The Outsider looks almost asleep, the god’s young face almost glowing as the light shines down into the tub. His hands are fixed as they hold on to the sides of the tub and the water is still as he holds his breath.

For a moment, he expects the god to open his eyes, to see those all too familiar black pits as dark as the abyss itself, and for the Outsider’s hands to slip away from the edge of the tub into the pitch black water.

But the Oustider blinks and looks up at him through the water, eyes still human. The Outsider’s lips quirk into a small smile before he exhales, letting bubbles of his breath disturb the water.

Before Corvo can even take his hand and help him out of the tub, the god does so on his own, dripping water all over the floor and clothes plastered onto him as he stands. He rises from the water shakily at first, before actually reaching for Corvo’s outstretched hand.

“ _I can walk_ ,” the Outsider breathes, and Corvo sees a sort of wonder in the god’s eyes. The way his voice whispers _‘walk’_ is akin to how Emily had sounded when she’d drawn her first picture and had showed him ( _“Corvo, Corvo! Lookit this, I drew us!”_ ). The god’s hands are shaking as he stands on the bathroom floor, taking careful steps and leaving droplets of water behind him as he went. He looks to Corvo with an unmistakable smirk. “I can walk.”

“Only just,” Corvo scoffs before tossing him a towel that he easily catches. “You’re making a mess.”

“And _you_ still do not know what to say to the Loyalists, Corvo,” the Outsider states, as though it were a fact as he towels his hair and his face dry. The Outsider does not taunt him, and the look that the god gives him is not a challenge, it is indifferent, merely stating a fact. “You never were a good liar.”

Perhaps, if he pointed the Heart at himself, he’d hear _her_ voice of how he never could look a man in the eye when he would keep the truth from them, from her, when he otherwise would stand tall and stare them down with their blood dripping from his sword had they wronged everything he cared about.

He cannot even bring himself to lie to Emily.

“I—” _I cannot_ , he thinks. These people trust him, or at least, they trust him enough to be able to sleep at night knowing that the moment their head hits the pillow will not be their last.

“Perhaps you do not have to, Corvo,” the Outsider says as he ambles to the door, towel slung over his shoulders and hair still dripping. Corvo can see the skin on his neck ridged with goose bumps from the chill of the water drying in the morning air, and the god’s shoulders are shaking from the cold.

“What do you mean?” Corvo takes off his own coat and settles it on the man’s shoulders as they open the door, quietly moving out of the servants’ quarters, and Corvo sees Cecelia’s hands brushing against the dust of the floor as they dangle over the cot, he hears Wallace snoring softly and Lydia breathes uneasily as though easily startled.

The Outsider secures the coat around his shoulders as they walk up to his quarters, where the bed was made and the lamp was extinguished. “I will speak for myself.”

“And whatever happened to not getting involved?”

He hears the Outsider give a soft laugh, but it is neither kind nor gentle or of humour. Bitter and harsh. Something Corvo does not wish to hear, be the man who walks slight in front of him a human or a god. “I’ve seen what happens to men who sit on the sidelines, dear Corvo. And men cannot afford to play god without their blood spilling on the pavement, so what I never did understand is why they do so, time and time again.”

“You watch, you play with our lives like we are nothing—”

He doesn’t realise the tone he’s taking, and the Outsider pushes him against the wall, dust falling down on them like crusts as he feels the god’s hand grip his throat. The Outsider’s eyes do not glower and the cold fingers around his throat do nothing to ease him.

He feels naked with those eyes, so very human but not quite, staring him over. He feels like his own skin has been rubbed raw and doused in methanol yet the hold on his neck is not even tight or choking, it is gentle.

He murmurs curses underneath his breath before twisting the Outsider’s arm easily and turning them over, the god’s face half-against the cracking paint of the wall and his still damp arms and sleeves held tight on his back by Corvo’s hand. He feels no struggling underneath him and the Outsider exhales.

“Because _you are nothing_ , Corvo, no matter how interesting you are. You all are nothing. But I am one of you now and what other choice have I but to survive as the rest of you have? You, my dearest, are the most powerful of them all and you can easily take this city and burn it to the ashes, and yet I have seen you do nothing but what you are told. Even _this_ is different for you and you are far from refuge.”

He lets go and the Outsider rubs his wrists to relieve them.

“I will spectate and I will engage; this is how it happens now. It is because of you that I am here, Corvo, so I am in your debt. But I will not trouble you any further by forcing you to do something I know you do poorly in, because I do not force men to act. I will speak for myself when faced with your allies and even her highness, Lady Emily.”

They do not stay in his quarters for very long. A quick change of clothing, hands touching hands as clean(er) shirts are passed and coats are hung to dry. Neither he nor the Outsider look away when the chill bites at the skin on their shoulders. The Outsider has seen him, every bit of him that he would care to know and the god plays fair. He tries not to let his eyes linger lower where his hands had held the Outsider firmly earlier.

When he sprints to the bar down the flight of stairs to get a drink, the Outsider follows him, easily now, as though he had not been crippled a little over a few hours ago. And they share a quiet pint of self-served ale with Samuel as they wait of all of the others to rise.

He almost chokes on his drink when he sees Emily through the door first and foremost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to see the Outsider [ sans whale-god eyes ](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BMThLeBCQAErCsZ.jpg:large) while I was writing this in the beginning. I thought if fair that I should share my discovery.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

iii.

It will be his honesty that will kill him, if not the blade or bullet from another by his own carelessness.

Samuel rubs firm circles on his back and the ale, instead of warming him, burns in his nostrils and in the back of his throat. The Outsider looks up at him from his own glass, eyes darting from him to the young empress at the far end of the pub.

Emily was surprised at first, but her sleep-dusted eyes narrow when they land on their guest.

Corvo finds himself coughing harder, loud enough to wake the whole damn building when Emily walks up to the Outsider and sneers like he never knew she was capable. "Oh, it's _you_."

Screw having the Outsider explain himself to Emily. He can lie and manipulate the Loyalists all he likes but he will not lie to her, not when she knows exactly who she's talking to. He can see in her head the image of herself readying a variation of the Tyvian chokehold (one he had taught her from what felt like a lifetime ago) on the god, who can only smirk to himself as he sees the same from her small knuckles cracking.

Instead, they shake politely, courteously and the Outsider, playing along, even goes as far to uphold courtroom manner by standing and kissing Emily’s hand.

They are playing a dangerous game.

He almost pushes them, all of them, even Samuel who wanted to finish his drink, out at the courtyard next to the Wrenhaven and his shoulders are cold from his lack of coat. He paces and the words die on his tongue and they can only watch him in his brilliant display of sleep deprivation.

Corvo's not one for talking, he never has been. Jessamine knew this, Emily knows this, the Outsider savours this and Samuel's probably already figured out. So when he explains in whispers what he knows (or rather, what little he's established), Emily and Samuel and even the Outsider give him their undivided attention. The Outsider, however, doesn’t look to be remotely affected by his borderline hysteria (borderline as far Corvo's concerned). A quirk to the side of his lips makes Corvo suspect that he’s misunderstood everything.

His hands are shaking, whether it is from the cold, his lack of sleep or his cracked composure he doesn't know. He doesn't want to know.

He is glad that Emily understands, but he grieves that she knows too much.

He is grateful that Samuel asks no questions, not yet at least, and not aimed at him, but for the god himself. Corvo has to thank Samuel for everything he’s done at some point, maybe with a flask of warm Serkonan tea or of smuggled Tyvian red—

“You act like this has happened before.”

“Because it has, Samuel Beechworth. It was a different time, a different place, a different mindset. It is part of something so much bigger than all of you that inevitably repeats itself sooner or later,” the Outsider says, and looking at him now, with his arms crossed, and Corvo’s shirt hanging a bit too loosely on his shoulders, while his eyes look up at them expectantly, Corvo wants to believe that the Outsider is human in that very moment. There is exhaustion, tiredness, a sort of weariness that comes with existing for everything, past, present, future with all the possibilities as vast pathways at his fingertips.

He knows that the Outsider can see all this, but he is stuck, human. He is forced to do what they do, how they do it. And yet, in his own quiet start, Corvo pities the Outsider.

He doesn’t want to. Not after being forced to play for the God.

When Campbell had been poisoned, spitting out last words for Curnow to take his notebook and go as Corvo watched from the dark, Corvo saw anger. When he’d emerged to choke Geoff Curnow into unconsciousness as Campbell watched, the white froth bubbling at the sides of his mouth, Corvo had seen fear. Then he saw nothing, the life run cold as he pulled the notebook from the Overseer’s inner breast pocket before moving out the window with Curnow snoring on his shoulder.

The Pendleton twins eyes had screamed shock and _‘NO, NO, NO. GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! GUARDS-’_ in volumes before Corvo had taken a blade to their throats.

But the Outsider’s eyes do not scream, they do not yell. It is strange, not seeing the enigmatic mischief in eyes so human, that instead of hiding the god’s soul, they weep so openly and grieve a vast mistake made. Corvo cannot read people when they shield and guard themselves so defensively each moment they walk. Only when the life spills from their eyes and the blood from their necks can he see everything.

But the Outsider hides nothing, perhaps he doesn’t even realise, and Corvo pities him even more.

"Well, how do you get back then? Back to being a god?" Emily asks him with uncertainty, and Corvo can feel the weight of her question bearing down on all of them.

The Outsider laughs. It is a bitter sound.

"How do all men get back, Empress? Men die, and so must I. You wouldn't believe it to be so simple and yet it is."

Corvo doesn't realise that his own knuckles are white as he grips the hilt of his blade. The Outsider's eyes fall to where his thumb digs dents into the pommel of the sword. His left hand burns with the Mark, and he can see Emily watching it warily from behind Samuel.

Samuel exhales.

"Corvo, you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

His hands ease around the hilt of his blade and instead  brings them into his pockets, where the Mark burns out of sight.

"No, of course not." _Think of Emily, think of Emily_.

Corvo sighs and lets Emily close to him when she drifts away from behind Samuel. Her head is nestled under his arms as she hugs him around the waist.

"Interesting," the Outsider remarks, eyes looking back up Corvo, betraying curiosity in his quirked eyebrows and subtly pursed lips. Had Corvo been a lesser man, he would have thought nothing of it.

But Corvo is not, and when the Outsider lets those very words pass from his lips, there can only be something greater that he’d rather not wait for.

"Well, you can help around here then. You've got nowhere else to stay," Emily begins, and Corvo can hear Jessamine’s kindness in her voice. “I’m sure we’ll find something for you to do until then, Mister Outsider.”

Much to Corvo’s alarm, the Outsider smiles at this.

It is a grateful smile, genuine, human. He sees it only for a moment before it fades into that passive mask.

He wants to see it again.

* * *

 It is Emily’s idea that they call the Outsider _‘Grigory’_.

“It’s Ancient Tyvian for _‘waking’_ or something, I learned it from Callista a few days ago. And you did say that you found him sleeping, Corvo.”

The Outsider looks pleased with being named, as though it’s never happened to him before.

And the Outsider does look like he hails from Tyvia with his pale complexion, sharp features and thick brows, as far as Corvo’s concerned and Samuel agrees. The boatman’s fared the seas that bleed and flow around and in-between the Isles enough to have seen people of different cultures and walks of life. He knows the difference between the curve of a Morley man’s cheek from a Gristol native (Corvo likes to think that Samuel can tell the difference with his fists).

“And you remind me of that Prince from _that_ book.”

Corvo knows exactly what book she’s talking about. Samuel outright chuckles and attempts to wipe the smile from his face with little avail while the Outsider’s face schools back into its familiar passive mask. Who in their right mind would leave a copy of _‘The Young Prince of Tyvia’_ in a shared bathroom of all places? And yet, Corvo cannot deny the similarities.

Samuel laughs harder when the Outsider says nonchalantly, “That book was a homage to me of sorts. Interesting. I never bothered with it.”

Grigory Antonov, the young diplomat hailing from Dabokva, Tyvia. Guest to the Kaldwin residence all those months ago, displaced after Jessamine’s death. He had taught Emily the history of the Isles from a different perspective. Found alive yet momentarily incapacitated in the Distillery District. Willing to carry on with educating and broadening Emily’s knowledge and horizons granted the safety and sanctuary in the Hound Pits. He will not interfere with anything else.

It’s easier to lie when there are others to help forge and cement the verity of the subject. It’s Emily’s to say that the Outsider was a guest from Tyvia, Samuel’s that he had been displaced (plausible when almost half the population is dead) and Corvo’s that the god teaches differently from the manner of the Academy of Natural Philosophy, as well as the fact that the god was found in the Distillery District. The Outsider finalizes with agreeing to teach Emily anything she would ask him-

“Anything?” Corvo hears excitement in Emily’s voice.

“Absolutely not,” Corvo responds before the Outsider can get a word out.

But he sees the god and the little empress share a brief look like two children sharing a secret from adults, and it used to be that it was him who Emily shared that look with-

Oh, they are playing a very dangerous game. 

* * *

He doesn’t make a fuss about Outsider- no, _Grigory_ to the rest of the Loyalists.

They file back into the pub, Emily trailing after him with her small hands around Corvo’s left hand, while the Mark is quiet and indifferent. Menial conversations of Emily’s lessons pass between them, of Samuel asking how her lessons are going, and of the Outsider asking about what things she’d like to start learning about (much to Corvo’s chagrin). They seat themselves into one of the booths across the bar, Samuel and the Outsider on one side and Emily and Corvo on the other.

While Corvo would normally listen intently as Samuel tells Emily a story of the largest hagfish that was caught off the coasts of Morley, he has his eyes and ears elsewhere.

It is only during breakfast, when everyone comes around and the plates of food and jugs of drink are passed around, the only time of the day when Corvo sees all of the Loyalists in one space, that they notice the Outsider chewing on a bite of jellied eel omelettes next to Samuel.

And of course, it is Teague Martin who is first to notice.

“How very rude of us not to have seen that we have a visitor this morning.”

The Overseer stands next to their booth, nursing a mug of tea in one hand and extending a handshake out to the Outsider in the other. From behind Martin, Corvo sees Havelock nowhere while Pendleton looks over his mug of coffee, eyes still clouded with sleep.

Samuel clears his throat and excuses himself, and Emily follows after him when they seat themselves next to Piero and Callista with their mugs of hot chocolate leaving Teague Martin some privacy with Corvo and the Outsider.

When the Outsider gives Teague Martin a firm handshake, they seat themselves back into the booth, with the Overseer landing Corvo in a corner while the Outsider sits across them with his hands around his mug of tea. He glances at Corvo expectantly before clearing his throat to meet with Teague’s patient stare.

“And how rude of me not to have introduced myself. My name is Grigory Antonov.”

The lies roll smoothly off of the Outsider’s tongue and Corvo thinks that he should not be surprised because this is the Outsider he’s sitting across for heaven’s sake.

He is.

Grigory Antonov is real, and he speaks to Teague Martin in a light-hearted and easy going tone, his voice subtly tinged with Tyvian inflections as he tells of his place in the late-Empress’s household. The Outsider speaks like a well-mannered diplomat, better than most he’s ever encountered even under Jessamine’s reign. The Outsider speaks like a total stranger and Corvo can only sip his cold tea as he looks over his mug, seeing Samuel and Emily watching them carefully from the other end of the pub.

He doesn’t breath any wrong breaths next to the High Overseer.

Teague cannot argue. He was not witness to what had gone on in Dunwall Tower before Jessamine’s death. Corvo was, and Teague clears with him.

“But you aren’t affiliated with the Academy of Natural Philosophy. You’re quite young, Antonov. Still you were qualified to teach Lady Emily?” The question is aimed for the both of them, but it is far from insinuating coming from Teague Martin, merely curious.

“I was but one of Emily’s tutors. The late Empress thought it befit for Emily to have been given some _outside perspective_ in terms of her education. I travelled and I studied in numerous places in the Isles before being Emily’s tutor. I hope to do so again, in fact. Teaching her has been something I’d enjoyed, regardless of the state the Empire is in. She is willing to learn and that’s all a teacher can ask for in a student, Overseer Martin.”

“And Corvo here didn’t argue? No knife to the throat or anything?” Teague jests with a laugh.

“He’s indebted to us,” Corvo manages through gritted teeth (he never was good at lying). “If Grigory thought it was a good idea to even lay a finger on Emily then he would have been long gone _before everything_ even began, Teague.”

“Well, I don’t see why you and Emily can’t have an old face around to help you all settle in. We are, after all, trying to get the Empire back on track. Why not settle with Lady Emily’s education,” Teague remarks after a moment through pursed lips and a slight smile as he nods his approval at Corvo. “I’m still impressed that you manage to do everything so well, Corvo, even after everything. Perhaps it’s nice to have an old friend around to give if not you, then Emily, some repose.” 

Overseers are usually not so kind. But Teague Martin is not a normal Overseer.

“I’ll speak to Pendleton and Havelock about this, Antonov. Were it up to me, you stay and teach Emily again alongside Callista, but I’ll put in a good word for you. Good enough that they won’t refuse.”

“Thank you, Overseer Martin,” the Outsider exhales, taking the man’s hand in a firm handshake over the table with a charming smile.

Teague bids them good day, thanking Lydia, Cecelia and Wallace for the meals before disappearing from the pub and the Outsider hums quietly.

“He’s convinced for now.” It is a statement, a fact.

“You know this? You _still_ know this?” Corvo finds himself whispering harshly over the table where the plates are empty and the mugs are filled with cold drink.

“I know Teague Martin like Samuel Beechworth knows the Wrenhaven, Corvo. He’s convinced for now. You are safe and I am safe.”

“What about much later then?” he hisses.

“It will come in time. Do not let it distract you.”

When Emily’s sprints back at them, her feet hop unabashedly by the table and fingers tapping an impatient beat on the wood, Corvo knows of her avidity. Samuel trails after her with a cigarette already pulled out.

“How’d it go, Corvo?” Emily asks him as he chews on her lower lip. “What did Martin think?”

“We’re okay, Emily. He’s okay. He can teach you.”

She smiles and it warms his heart like the tea couldn’t.

“Can he teach me how to do another Tyvian chokehold then?”

“Emily-”

“Yes, I can if you like.”

“Don’t encourage him, Emily.”

Samuel chuckles at him as she pulls the Outsider from his seat and out into the courtyard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for subjecting you guys to this without finalizing my proofreading. I'll make sure that it won't happen again.

 

iv.

He breathes in drags from Samuel's cigarette as they stand by the makeshift shed where the boatman sleeps and Corvo really does try and answer all Samuel's questions.

"So he's the reason why you can do what you can do?"

And this question comes after Samuel's repeated attempts of saying, _'Corvo, really, if you won't tell me then I won't ask. Don't worry about it-'_ but Corvo knows the kind man has questions for him, and if anything, it will ease the nagging sensation that weighs heavy on his shoulders as well as the guilt deep in his stomach of hiding something from a man who he trusts and trusts him so much. Corvo insists.

They share the cigarette between themselves and his eyes wander to where Emily and Callista are sitting in the sun, having their lessons in the middle of the courtyard on old crates as makeshift chairs and desks. They are studying arithmetic and Corvo can only remember the same knot to the brow that Jessamine had when they were much younger, when the late Empress was studying these very numbers and principles, which Emily has in hers right now.

He passes the cigarette back to Samuel. He doesn't smoke, he never did but the smoke is thick in his throat and he's momentarily mesmerized by small embers that glow as he takes another drag. His eyes focus on the sensitive wisps like webs coming from the ash. He exhales and smoke fills his face.

"For the most part. It's a bit-"

"Complicated?"

Corvo snorts, turning down the cigarette offered to him.

"I wish I could say that."

Emily pouts and Corvo can see that she's made a mistake as she rubs the sheet of paper furiously with an eraser. Callista corrects her gently with a small smile gracing her lips while the Outsider observes, perched on the nearby empty hound kennels while chewing on a Tyvian pear.

It's an awfully domestic sight, as far as Corvo's concerned.

"The powers, Samuel, are because of him. Everything else is me.” _Every mistake, every slip-up, every drop of blood that I can’t get off my coat, every stain I can’t scrub off the sword, everything._

Corvo lets out a sigh and he rubs the Mark warm on his left hand with the pad of his right thumb as he stares into the dirt. When he looks up to meet Samuel’s eyes, he sees pity and he realises that he must have let his eyes voice his thoughts more than he’s granted.

The pity disappears from Samuel’s eyes and instead, the boatman’s gaze falls to the Mark on his hand and he gestures with the almost-gone cigarette. Samuel’s voice is dead quiet and Corvo understands why. “Touched by the Outsider, then?”

“Yes.” They shift their gazes to where Emily waves the said god over to them to show him some of the work that she’s done. Callista holds a steady conversation with the Outsider regarding Emily’s lessons, but she suspects nothing. Her voice however is sharper than usual as she speaks to the Outsider and Corvo wonders whether she is circumspect of losing her position as Emily’s tutor and caretaker to Mister Antonov.

“Why?” Samuel’s voice is uncertain, and that perhaps he should not have asked in the first place, as though he’s inquired about something personal. Perhaps it is, but Corvo doesn’t mind sharing, not when the object of their discussion is sitting across Emily and Callista with a pencil in his hands and a look of a very patient and wizened educator on his young face.

He can hear the Outsider explaining applied arithmetic to Emily using fifteen whales on a Pandyssian coast as an example.

“As much as I want to tell you that I don’t know why he marked me, Samuel, then I’d be lying to you.” The Outsider hasn’t lied to him, not just yet at least, and Corvo wants to laugh at how daft the words that come out of his mouth sound. “I was told that I was _fascinating_.”

Samuel blinks. “Fascinating.”

“Those were his words, not mine.” And they do not quite have the same flow to them when he and Samuel say it, their voices are rough and raw and harsh where the Outsider lets the syllables ring smoothly from his own lips like honey.

Or like poison.

“Outsider’s eyes,” Samuel exhales after a crack as he stamps out the dead cigarette on the ground with his boot.

If the Outsider’s heard them speak of him from across the courtyard, he gives no indication. Instead, the god’s attention is held by a theory Emily shares with him and Callista about whales and sustainability, the arithmetic long forgotten.

“Outsider’s eyes,” Samuel says again, sad humour present in his tone this time. “I’m a sailor and I’ve seen and heard many things, Corvo, but I don’t think I can ever compare this to anything I’ve ever seen. I mean, he’s right here sitting in front of us, teaching Lady Emily math of all things.”

“I can’t believe it either.”

They hear the Outsider speaking of the Tyvian variation of the whales as his pencil scratches on the paper, he speaks of how the waters are harsher, the wind is colder and the whales are in turn much more deadly and harder to kill. He spins a tale (whether it is true or not, Corvo knows nothing) of the loss of a ship’s number of sailors and soldiers at sea in Morley which was caused by a rather resilient beast that swam in from Tyvia.

Callista and Emily listen to him intently, both for reasons that are so different but very much the same, and this much Corvo knows. He knows that Emily dreams of adventure the way all children do, of seeing different lands, and sighting different beasts, meeting different people for he, too, had dreamt of those such ventures when he was little.

Callista on the other hand, he knows, dreams of her hair whipping free on the decks of whaling ships, and of the sea spraying some times kindly, others harshly as her boat chases beasts of the deep with their harpoons. She dreams of touching the side of a sedated whale with her bare hands, of looking into its haze-filled eyes. Corvo knows this, for the Heart, _her voice_ , had spoken to him and he wishes that he can take knowing it, among many other things, back.

“Were you actually going to do it?” Samuel asks him quietly.

Corvo doesn’t ask what because he follows Samuel’s gaze to the sheathed blade by his side.

The Outsider’s bitter laugh echoes in his mind. _“How do all men get back, Empress? Men die, and so must I. You wouldn’t believe it to be so simple and yet it is.”_

Samuel looks away when his fists clench and his Mark flares.

He can kill men easily without a problem, without even any semblance of hesitation. He is merciful and he grants them a quick death, free of any pain or suffering. Overseers and watchmen, thugs and masked assassins, they are all the same. They all bleed.

Sometimes, his hands ache when he sees their blood pooling and seeping in between the cracks of the cobblestones where they lay sprawled on. He would pass a cleaned hand over their eyes if they’d remained open and shocked and dead. But Corvo holsters his gun and sheathes his blade and he moves on.

The Outsider is a god, but only three of them know him as such. A girl-child empress, a boatman, and a Lord Protector. Will he bleed the same as they do with his body, will he look so filthy and uncouth and dead when he passes?

Corvo does not wish to see it. The Outsider is still a god, he is still the Leviathan, and while he may be made man and he may bleed, Corvo doesn’t want the blood of a god on his blade. He kills enough men already, and this blade of his is not meant for gods.

“I wasn’t going to,” he reassures as he hold Samuel’s unconvinced gaze. “They wanted an assassin, then fine. I kill men if I have to, Samuel, but I don’t- I _can’t_ kill gods. I can’t. Least of all him.” _I’m not so ungrateful that I’d kill the very being that helped make all of this so much easier for me._

If Jessamine can only see him now. _An assassin._ Corvo exhales. “And besides, I really don’t want to have to be the one to do it. I’ve made too much of a mess already.”

Samuel wordlessly lights another cigarette and his eyes are unreadable. For a moment, Corvo wonders if he’s said the wrong thing to kind-hearted boatman. But a warm, sun-weathered hand places itself on his shoulder and squeezes lightly and it tells him otherwise.

“It wasn’t my place to ask any of that from you, Corvo, but thanks for it. You did good.”

He lets his eyes speak for him, and he wishes that he can say more— no, _do_ more to thank Samuel for his company and understanding but no room for words is given when they see Emily waving them over with more pencils and paper in hand. The Outsider is already lost in his drawings and Callista looks up at them with an open book in her lap, ready to write more lessons down for Emily.

The sun shines brighter than it’s ever done in weeks, and they all sit in the middle of it taking its heat in and letting it seep under their skin and warm them.

When Corvo sits next to the Outsider, he sees an intricate sketch of himself and of Samuel leaning against the makeshift shed on the recycled newsprint. It is the first drawing he sees before he finds himself lost in the abyss of graphite of drawn whales and seascapes.

He sees a smudged image of Granny Rags peeking out underneath all the arithmetic, of the old woman moving about her squat underneath the Distillery District, another rune in hand.

He sees a drawing of Piero sitting by his desk, working away with papers and papers of diagrams and notes all about him, and Corvo can hear the machinations coming from the workshop amidst Emily, Callista and Samuel’s conversation.

He sees the shoulders of Jessamine’s killer, crouching atop a rooftop with more of his assassins flanking him left and right—

The Outsider takes all these drawings and crumples them easily in his hands before Corvo can even move his hands to take a closer look at Jessamine’s killer.

“I can still see them. Perfectly clearly.” The Outsider’s voice is low and only meant for him.

He should feel anger. _Her_ killer is one of them. Corvo’s known this, for a while ever since he had first received his gifts from the Outsider, but to see it from the god’s own hand, in his sketches, these intricate sketches that clearly show years and years, decades, or even millennia’s worth of experience—

He should be angry. While the Mark flares within proximity of the god, his temper does not.

“What else can you see?”

Instead his voice is resigned and he is tired and he does better to take up a pencil to scrawl mindlessly on the speckled paper.

“You will leave soon. You are to retrieve someone of importance to this city. I see him now, in fact, still attempting take hold of my attention as he swings back a glass of wine while the infected roam in a cell next to him by his own insane designs. He has not painted in months, Corvo, and he fills his alcohol with his own elixir to wash down the taste of his efforts.”

* * *

At sundown, he has to abduct Anton Sokolov from his residence at the North End of Kaldwin’s bridge before midnight.

Havelock and Martin have spoken to him about his objective at present, with apologies about the delay of things (Martin had said ominously that not all Overseers are kind and they are like lost sheep without anyone to keep them in line). They have also spoken to him about the visitor.

“He won’t interfere. You could just let him teach Emily like he used to at the Tower.”

He’s gotten a little bit better at lying. His teeth aren’t suffering as much anymore and his shoulders are warm and covered with his dried coat on them.

“Yes, Martin’s told me of this, Corvo. This Grigory Antonov seems more than capable enough,” Havelock says over his glass of whiskey, stirring the alcohol in the glass slightly as he holds it in his hand. Teague Martin is quiet and only observes, looking over his own glass. “While I don’t appreciate you bringing back survivors through your _illicit_ nightly excursions, it’s been agreed amongst us that a familiar face and an extra hand will be good for Emily and for you.”

He does not want to ask what on earth they meant by the Outsider’s presence being better for him as well. Martin suspects his discomfort and smirks behind his glass.

“May the spirits be in your favour tonight, Corvo,” the Overseer says with a raised glass as Corvo nods at them and dons his mask on the way out. “We hope to see you safe with Sokolov in a few hours.”

Emily and Callista are nowhere to be seen, and after he pockets the newly crafted sleep darts made for him by Piero (who whispers that he’s seen Antonov somewhere before, that the man _feels_ odd) it is the Outsider who is last to see him off.

“You will survive this.”  It is simple as well as cold and harsh, like ice. The others may mistake it for Tyvian inflections but Corvo knows better. The Outsider lets the fatigue show through his eyes. “I will wait for you.”

“No, get your rest.” His tone is accosting but it’s as though the Outsider is much younger than him. Almost like Emily had been when she stubbornly stayed awake to hear a story from him before bedtime. “There’s a spare bed frame and mattress in the attic, ask Wallace or Cecelia nicely to help you.”

“You are kind, Corvo.” The Outsider’s gratitude is unspoken, but even Corvo feels it. “Good night. I _will_ see you in a few hours.”

He turns to walk down the cobblestone steps to where Samuel is waiting patiently in the boat bound for Kaldwin’s bridge but he spins round before he realises, and the Outsider’s hand is already around the doorknob to the pub.

“Why do you still sound so sure about everything?” He doesn’t like asking questions, least of all to the Outsider but if the god could still see and draw in great detail Granny Rags, Piero and the killer-

Uncertainty flickers in the Outsider’s face for a second before falling back into that mask of indifference. “Not everything, Corvo. Already there are hazes-”

“Hazes.”

“I just might tell you when you come back. _Just._ ”

The Outsider’s made a jest.

Corvo boards the boat with the Outsider’s joking tone playing in his mind, and oh, how the spirits are cruel.

He is just glad that Samuel doesn’t ask him anything this time around. He makes a mental note to smuggle a bottle of something nicer from Sokolov's household for the boatman.


	5. Chapter 5

v.

The first thing Corvo does after he settles into the Amaranth with Sokolov crumpled at the foot the small vessel, is he takes off his mask and breathes the humid air, and he breathes hard. The river smells foul but he prefers this to the clinical ruination that hung over the whole Academy— and Corvo runs a hand through his hair, sighing.

Samuel has already had the Amaranth’s motor running as he’d arrived with the Royal Physician slung over his shoulder- and Corvo wrinkles his nose as he remembers the abhorrent manner in which Sokolov had spoken of his research. They sail right under Kaldwin’s Bridge, in the dark where the Watch fails to see them in their dead floodlights on the water.

The common woman in the cell at the back of Sokolov’s laboratory, had stared at him in fear as he drifted amongst Sokolov’s research specimens, a shadow with Death’s face looming over the Royal Physician himself. Sokolov was far too absorbed in his research, his mouth at the microphone of his audiograph to notice the woman’s whimpering. Corvo doesn’t flinch at the way she had recoiled and sobbed slightly when he wrapped his arms around Sokolov’s neck and waited for him to go limp, out of breath and consciousness.

She’d curled in on herself further when he approached with Sokolov over his shoulder, snoring. Corvo had raised his arm, his left, his mark flaring and he was so sure, almost so sure that she would scream and sound the alarm and cause his whole night to go straight to hell. Never mind all the effort that it had taken him to stay his hand from Overseers, watchmen and maids alike the whole night and not shed any more blood. Would they wake to the sound of her screams?

Instead, she whispers and begs.

“Please don’t hurt me-”

Corvo clicks the lock of her cell open. His mouth his dry as he speaks and he hopes that she does not recognize his voice.

“All the guards here in the Academy and towards the south of the Bridge are unconscious, you’ll be able to leave-”

“Leave?”

“There are other survivors too, they were free to go.”

He steps aside to let her pass and she shakily gets up and rubs her arm. Corvo expects her to turn and bolt to the door past all or Sokolov’s plants immediately yet she approaches him and takes his unmarked hand and holds on to it almost reverently-

“Thank you, thank you, the others will know what you’re done, sir.”

Corvo looks after her when she runs, and he stares at his marked hand, feeling where she had held it so shakily and he is glad that there is no blood smeared in his palm. What would the Outsider say if he could see? Would he be called weak for his sudden change of heart, of the lack of innocent blood spilt as a means to an end?

Or would the Outsider call him fascinating for staying his hand?

He wonders if the god could still see him even as he knows that the Leviathan’s feet are firmly planted to the creaking floorboards of the Hound Pits.

Corvo shakes himself free of the thought when he realises that Samuel is speaking to him just a touch quietly over the thrum of Amaranth’s motor and Sokolov’s snores. Samuel draws his eyes over him in concern, and Corvo feels a pang of fondness for the older man, like he was a son that had come back from a war and Samuel was a father who worried over him regardless if they had won the war or not.

“Everything all right, Corvo?” Samuel asks, his eyes drawn back to the waterline, Emily’s tower at the Hound Pits already looming in the distance.

“Everything-” He remembers the three survivors he saved, the lack of blood of his knife and on his hands. The woman’s hands shaking his. “Everything was fine.”

“Glad to hear that, Corvo.” Samuel doesn’t hide his proud smile and Corvo feels his chest unfurling, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Corvo leans back in his seat, comfortable and at ease at the silence over them, punctuated every now and then by the Royal Physician’s snores. It is only then that Corvo realises that he may have used too much force to choke Sokolov unconscious.

“I think Sokolov’s going to be asleep for longer, Samuel,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he nudges the Royal Physician with his boot.

“He’ll be alright, Corvo. The Admiral’s had a cage set up for him in the kennels, with the chains and everything,” Samuel snorts, looking down at Sokolov’s slumped for all over the Amaranth’s welcome mat. “He’s woken up in worse places, if you believe rumours about him.”

Corvo lets out a quiet chuckle, and his coat pocket bumps into the timber of the built in seating, a bottle hitting the edge of a hard surface. Samuel turns back to him in curiosity at the sound and Corvo smiles.

He’s promised himself he’d bring something good back for Samuel after all.

“Speaking of him waking up, I don’t think he’ll miss these when he wakes up in the kennels,” he says as he pulls out two, small bottles of Serkonan brandy, the kind which the sailors aboard the vessel he and Geoff Curnow had been on favoured and valued so much, and hands it over to Samuel.

The sailors had good taste in alcohol and Corvo smiles at the memory. A happier time.

Samuel nods at him in understanding.

“This here’s a sailor’s drink, Corvo.” Samuel beams at him and shakes his hand. Corvo is again grateful that he’s stayed his hand tonight as the boatman grips his palm firmly and warmth seeps through Samuel’s tattered gloves. “Thank you.”

He watches Samuel store them inside a crate underneath his seat, and Corvo hopes that he might be able to share it with the boatman in the future. The pass under the familiar ruined struts and bridges of the Hound Pits and the sky is bright for once with the stars illuminating the darkness of the district. He sees Havelock and Martin waiting by the shore, quiet amazement visible on Havelock’s face that refines itself down to the way he holds himself, arms open and head nodding at the sight of Sokolov on the floor of the boatman’s vessel.

Martin as usual, is inscrutable, but there is a smile that Corvo sees that doesn’t quite reach the High Overseer’s eyes.

Corvo feels eyes on the back of his neck and he looks up to see the Outsider, human as he is, watching from the makeshift platform of Emily’s tower. He nods at Corvo and raises a hand in greeting and Corvo finds himself nodding back.

He wonders how much he has seen.

“Very nicely done, Corvo,” Havelock says to him as he steps out of the boat, clipping his mask to his belt, he needs not to wear it here, as Death has no need to be around the young Empress. Not anymore. Corvo promised her that much.

Havelock and Martin walk with him up to the pub, passing by the drawn aperture to Piero’s workshop and Havelock continues. “Sokolov was a great man with the Elixir and his machines but he was fool to side with the Lord Regent. You should get some sleep, don’t worry, we won’t interrogate him without your tomorrow.”

“But of course, knowing you Corvo, you’d probably like to say good night to Emily first,” Martin says in an undertone, almost a jest, and Corvo tries not to frown too hard. Martin gives quiet chuckle, and it feels too easy and too kind. “We’ll let you get onto that. Good night, Corvo.”

Corvo’s mouth draws to a thin line, trying not to let his unrest show too much when he is around the High Overseer, he is a means to the Loyalists end- Corvo knows that much. He knows that Martin is scheming enough to leave him be until-

_Until they get Emily on the throne._

He hears the afterthought in the Outsider’s monotonous lilt.

Corvo jerks slightly when he feels Teague Martin’s hand on his shoulder, and the overseer’s face is still unreadable, but Corvo can see in his eyes that he’s contemplative, even if his mouth is thinned to a line.

“Your _companion_ at the Tower, Antonov is still awake, by the way, Corvo,” Martin interrupts, his hand lifting away from Corvo’s shoulder almost immediately. “Strange man, he says he refuses to sleep until you return. Says that it’s common practice for natives back home in Tyvia to wait for their friends to return before they turn in for the night.”

Corvo misses a beat and Martin speaks again in that voice that belies his silver tongue.

“I’m not sure what part of Tyvia practices that but you two seem _close_ , Corvo.”

Corvo wishes to cut out his tongue, and by the way the High Overseer smirks at him, he definitely knows it.

“He was Emily’s favourite tutor,” Corvo attempts to grind out, his previously self-proclaimed improvement in lying getting thrown right out of the window as the words stumble out of his mouth. “It’s hard not to be familiar with another if the person you’ve been elected to protect doesn’t want to stop learning from them.”

Martin smirks another one of his damning smiles and Corvo clenches his fist, thankful that the High Overseer starts to turn in the other direction, towards the bar where Havelock is speaking with Lydia in hushed tones. Martin starts to walk away with his hands clasped behind his back. “Well then, let’s hope that he doesn’t put Callista out of her duties-”

“I know him, he wouldn’t,” Corvo bites. _He doesn’t care for power plays like humans do._

“Of course, Corvo. Good night.”

Corvo exhales, squinting at the High Overseer’s retreating figure before he ascends the steps to the rest of the pub, past the rooms on the second floor where he can hear Pendleton creating another one of his inebriated memoirs. He slows his almost childish stomping up the stairs when he sees Cecelia descending from the attic.

“Oh, Master Corvo-” she hesitates, as though unsure of what words to say. Corvo raises his hand in regard and gives her a wide berth. “I was just helping out Lord Antonov set up another bed in the attic in your room. We hope you don’t mind.”

She’s ashamed, Corvo can see. Her eyes are on the floor and her scuffed shoes squeaking against the floorboards, ashamed that they’re unable to even give him his own privacy when it’s clear that luxuries such as those are impossible to have. Corvo sighs and lays a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Cecelia, it’s all right.” Cecelia perks up, unused to the lack of reprimand, Corvo knows. He removes his hand from her shoulder and nods at her. “Antonov’s a strange man but he’s not the worst roommate one could have. He appreciates the help, I do too. Thank you.”

Cecelia gives a small smile and bows at him before wishing him good night.

He ends up making his way to Emily’s tower but the Outsider is already gone from the struts when he’d been watching the exchange Corvo was having with Havelock and Martin from earlier. His eyes glaze over the horizon, to the far end of the Wrenhaven seeing the top of Dunwall Tower across the growing fog that’s started to roll in over the river.

_Right under the Lord Regent’s nose and they don’t even know it._

His knuckles are soft when he knocks on the door of Emily’s smaller tower. Warmth from the boiler in the room seeps out as Callista opens the door to let him in, seeing Emily tucked into bed with her blankets up to her chin.

Callista returns to her own bed as Corvo quietly moves to sit at the foot of Emily’s, his hands (free of blood) brush the hair from her face that’s splayed across her nose. Corvo smiles when Emily’s brow creases and he presses his lips softly to her forehead, a quiet wish of good night passing from his lips.

Emily is here. She is safe.

Corvo thinks of Jessamine and his unspoken promise to her at the Tower. Emily is safe.

He sees Callista watching them carefully, her eyes distant and Corvo remembers that she only has Geoff left to call family. The last Corvo’s seen of Geoff was when he had left him in the dumpster in Holger Square. Yet his men are still alive across the city and still speak of him with great respect, so Corvo imagines that the incorruptible City Watch Captain is all right.

He has one other ally in this city when it all blows over.

“Geoff- your uncle, Callista,” Corvo finds himself saying and Callista looks up at him, eyes focusing back to the present. “He’s- all right. The resolve runs in your family.”

 “It’s hard, Corvo. Looking after Emily takes me back to my own memories, when I was her age and had nothing but my uncle.” _Now Emily has nothing in this world but you._

“He taught you well, Callista.”

_You two will make it out of this alive_ , Corvo thinks as he smooths out the blanket over Emily’s side, her breathing deep under the worn fabric and his warm palm. The mark is silent. Callista sighs, her lips betraying a small smile and she turns back to the book that she reads.

It is quiet between them, Emily’s breaths are deep and steady and for a moment, Corvo can easily imagine that they are right back at the Tower, and that everything is all right. But it is only for a moment.

He gets up and makes his way to the door, and Callista follows suit to close the door behind him, but she touches his arm.

“Corvo, about Grigory- I mean, Lord Antonov, he-” Callista hesitates and for a moment Corvo can see the scared little girl like Emily was in her. He sits her back down on her own bed, across from Emily’s and puts a hand on her shoulder. Callista hasn’t allowed herself to cry in years, Corvo knows from the Heart’s secrets, but he suspects she’s dangerously close. He starts to rub her back.

“It’s all right, Callista.” Comforting her like he does with Emily after a nightmare.

“I was promised a job with good men when I came here.” Her voice breaks but no tears fall. She continues. “What will happen to that once they realise that I am not worthy when he’s around. You say that he’s been Emily’s tutor previously- that she loves learning from him-”

_How can I compare to that?_ She leaves unvoiced. Her fists shake in her lap and Corvo can see her knuckles turning white.

Corvo curses himself for failing to realise what implications bringing the Outsider to the Hound Pits would be especially under the guise of a Tyvian scholar- he may have saved Geoff Curnow’s life, but it’s disgraceful to think that he repays Callista back by putting her out of a job-

“You two can work together, Callista,” he blurts out. Callista’s fists unfurl in her lap and she blinks at him. “You can teach Emily together, and you can learn from each other. He has a _particular_ way of seeing the world that would be good for Emily to think about but-”

“She needs the basics too.” Callista exhales, clearly deliberating.

“Yes. He’s rather subversive in his thinking,” Corvo continues. Unsure about any of the lies that are rolling off his tongue at this point. He just hopes that it would come back to bite him. “Emily loves him because of that but she can’t think like that all the time, or at least, she needs to be able to deliver it properly in the court. And Antonov needs to learn to be more subtle about it.”

The last thing Corvo expects is for Callista gives a small laugh, and it surprises him. She attempts to hide it behind her hand and fails. “Did you just bring a heretic to live under the same roof as the High Overseer, Corvo?”

_Yes, I did. I did more than just that, Callista._ “No, of course not. He’s Tyvian, not a heretic.”

“ _All right_ , Corvo. I suppose they do say the same about Sokolov too,” Callista says after a beat, her shoulders much more relaxed. “I’ll speak to Grigory about this as well. He’s different as you say but I definitely agree with you. I can learn from him, I just hope that he’s willing to reciprocate.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Callista. You can trust him.” He moves to rise from the bed, and his hands find themselves clasping behind his back as Callista opens the door for him.

“Do you trust Grigory, Corvo?” she asks, the previous mirth gone from her eyes, and the resolve that’s so strong in her and Geoff Curnow evident in her eyes yet again. Corvo cannot lie to her this time.

And he doesn’t. “I do.”

Callista nods, satisfied and thanks him for listening to her when nobody else at the Hound Pits would even care to. She bids him good night and Corvo finds the walk back to his attic a quiet one even as the struts creak underneath his boots.

By the time he reaches his room, he sees the Outsider’s sleeping form in a bed pushed to the far end of him room, his back to the door. Corvo peels off his coat and sets his weapons on the table next to his bed, careful to set the Heart and his bonecharms under the expanse of his blue coat, his mask on top, so none of the others can see if they chose to enter his room while he slept. He crawls into bed, the frame squeaking softly under his weight as he gets comfortable.

He lies on his back with his hands folded across his chest when he sees the Outsider turn onto his back from the corner or his eye to mimic the way Corvo’s lying in bed. He is awake and Corvo can see that he’s restless in his own bed.

The Outsider speaks first. “How did the abduction of the Royal Physician go, dear Corvo?”

Corvo props himself up on his elbows and answers. “I thought you were watching-”

He stops himself when he sees the Outsider go uneasy in his bed and turn away from Corvo yet again. Corvo is scared for a moment, terrified in a point of singularity, that he’s offended and angered the Outsider, that he could be devoured any moment-

“I cannot see anymore.” The Outsider’s voice sounds jilted, his voice a whisper that Corvo is straining to hear, as though he doesn’t wish to admit the truth himself.

“What?”

“I. Cannot. See.” The Outsider exhales and snaps, making Corvo flinch at how irritated he sounds. “ _Dear Corvo_ , I wouldn’t ask you how it had gone if I knew how it went.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Corvo lies back down and rubs his eyes tiredly, hiding his eyes as he apologizes, teeth grinding and lip bitten. He can hear the way the Outsider’s controlling his breathing, and the way his clothes rustle when he shifts back onto his side.

“…It’s all right.”

“Is this normal?”

“What is normal, Corvo?” The god, no, man across the room vents. Corvo starts to feel pity in his chest at the way the Outsider’s voice breaks and his breath picks up. “I- How do you humans do it? You walk each day not knowing what your futures hold- How do you all make it through each day with this uncertainty?”

He exhales breathily through his nose when he hears the Outsider starting to hyperventilate.

The next thing he knows is that his bare feet are padding over the dusty floorboards, and he settles himself at the Outsider’s side, rubbing the fallen god’s back in circles. The Outsider stills at the contact and Corvo freezes, ready to blink away at any second until he feels the expanse of the Outsider’s back lean further into his touch.

“There’s no way we can really know what happens in the future,” Corvo says, out of comfort but he holds to that. The Outsider’s warmth seeps through his thin borrowed shirt and onto Corvo’s palm. “We can only hope for the best. And you’re only human, you keep trying in the end because you have to find something to live for.”

_You’re only human._

“I suppose- I suppose I am.” The Outsider exhales, his voice now steady. Corvo lifts his hand from him as he rolls onto his back, but he keeps his hand close, right on the small expanse of bed next to the Outsider’s arm. He feels the warmth emanating from the then god and he moves his hand closer, fingertips brushing skin lightly.

Corvo closes his eyes for a moment and breathes.

“Your hands are clean today, Corvo,” The Outsider says, moving closer to Corvo’s touch, letting him touch his arm in comfort. Corvo opens his eyes to see the Outsider moving to hold his hand and turn it over his own.

His breath hitches slightly, feeling calluses in the pads of his fingers. But it’s not unwanted, and he lets the Outsider play with his hands more, as if he’s fascinated to see and feel Corvo up close. Like a child turning their favourite stuffed animal over and over again to see something new each time.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he admits.

“Fascinating.” The Outsider hums, and Corvo cannot sense if there is any approval nor disapproval in his tone. Completely unreadable. “You’ve gotten more careful now.”

Corvo remains quiet and he lets the Outsider brush the pads of his thumbs against the skin of Corvo’s palm. He’s surprised at the gentleness and Corvo almost feels shy, he can feel his face heating up at the thought of the god being so careful with him because he’s the one in his favour.

He clears his throat and pulls his hands away, filing away the pout that the Outsider gives him when his hand leaves his touch.

“We should get some sleep,” he starts to say, bringing his fingers through his hair and he looks away at the Outsider watching his every move, watching the way fingers comb through his hair as he does when he’s nervous. A tic that he’s moved away from since entering Jessamine’s court. “Havelock wants me around to interrogate Sokolov tomorrow.”

The Outsider snorts at the mention of the Royal Physician’s name. “Ah, of course. Now that he’s up close maybe I can begin to see what he’s been repeatedly trying to get my attention with. Not that that would even make a difference. That man is still a drawl.”

Corvo shakes his head and rolls his eyes as he pads back into bed, feet dusting the floor. The metal bedframe dutifully creaks as his back settles and sinks into the mattress. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of the Outsider’s breathing starting to even out across the room as sleep starts to take them both.

“Hey,” Corvo starts to say, a whisper and he hopes the Outsider doesn’t hear him.

“Yes, Corvo?”

“Please be kind,” Corvo whispers, unsure whether he’s imploring the fallen god or himself. He rubs his eyes and brings an arm over his face. “The people here are good people- they may not be as fascinating but they’re good people-”

He thinks of Samuel and his concern and Cecelia of her quiet selfworth, and of Callista and her resolve, wanting nothing more than to provide and be there for Emily.

_Please be kind so that they don’t have to suffer._

He’s almost so sure that the Outsider doesn’t hear him, or at least doesn’t understand what he says. But-

“For you, my dear, I will try.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out, and sleep is a sudden blanket over him.

“Good night, Corvo.”

He dreams of the Void that night. But it is empty and barren, devoid of the one who walks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone, I'm really, really very sorry about the 3 years in between the last update and now. I lost my drive for writing ever since then but it's started to return and looking at this, i decided that i can't leave it. especially as dishonored is a game that's very important to me, with the sequel coming out this year to me personally, i thought it was very important for me to wrap this up. 
> 
> i can safely say that we're a little over halfway through the whole movement, and while my writing's changed, i hope that whoever reads this, be you a new or old reader, i hope you still manage to enjoy it. Please let me know if you love it or hate it but know that I really appreciate that you've stuck around. <3


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